This is for that reviewer who thought that my Target story was poetry. That wasn't poetry; this is.

~ nonlineardogtime xx


We locked the doors and shuttered the windows; they came in through the roof.

The houses shook and the furniture rattled; through the old wood came a hoof.

The lights went dark and the fire soon died in the face of the Long Night.

The old women say, down by the bay, to tuck your children in tight.

We know the stories and tales they've told; through here ride the bones of the damned.

The first clattered by long ago in the period when the ewes lambed.

The years all passed and everyone passed with them; from this grew the spring young.

The old women say, down by the bay, it is of them the songs are sung.

They are of bones with eyes of coin; they tie their joints with cord.

From the sand they rise and horses they ride away from the cliff and ford.

The clouds pour forth and the sun weeps tears; the accursed all come with the turn of the year.

The old women say, down by the bay, they break from tomb and bier.

They storm the town, the dead and the drowned; they seek their homes long gone.

The night falls fast as the sun dies; the moon looms large and wan.

The scuffle of feet and the clamor of hands sound quietly through the dark.

Though the flesh has gone and the spirit holds on, these leave nary a mark.

The old women say, down by the bay, that they would stay save for the light of the dawn.

They flood the streets and batter the walls and ask for the people of old.

If one replies and opens the blinds, they gather in numbers untold.

Neither flame nor fire nor fear of the pyre will turn the horde away.

Like cold stars they swarm, for they long to be warm; they lead their helpers astray.

The old women say, down by the bay, that they are then brought into the fold.

The night thus ends, and gone are our friends; more names for the Song of the sea.

It may wash away the signs on the sand, and I'll tell this to thee:

No one knows where the dead all go, having left with the ebbing tide.

The old women say, down by the bay, they are nowhere in this world so wide.

The dead all say, far and away, the waters are now their own.